212: Chapter 212 The Undead Surrender

The aftershocks of the Emperor's ascension had yet to subside, and the Galaxy ushered in its first peaceful era in ten thousand years—free from the threat of Chaos, the strife of the Imperium, and the covetous gaze of The Swarm.

But in the Human Federation's dictionary, there was no word for peace, only order and non-order.

And in this newly unified Galaxy, two entities stubbornly refused to be defined by order: the Necrons and the Eldar.

The arks of Saim-Hann, Dance of Pale Light, and Whispering Forest had been destroyed, but remnants of the Eldar remained.

Deep within the Webway, in forgotten corners of the Warp, in those hidden places even the Human Federation's Diting Network could not fully penetrate, three arks still clung to existence: Twilight City, the Astropath Sanctuary, and the Last Awakener.

They no longer attacked, no longer counterattacked, and no longer even revealed their locations. They merely waited, waiting for a prophecy.

This prophecy was woven by the seers of the three arks, at the cost of a full ten million Eldar souls. Its content was exceedingly simple, yet it made every Eldar who knew it tremble in fear:

"When the dark gold covers the Galaxy, the three arks must become one. After becoming one, sail beyond the Galaxy, and seek a new home in the abyss, or face extinction."

Thus, when the Human Federation's dark golden banners rose over every inch of the Galaxy's starry sky, those three arks simultaneously activated an ultimate fusion protocol unused for ten thousand years. They drew close to each other in the depths of the Webway, like three withered leaves seeking warmth in a storm, finally merging into one, forming an unprecedented, gargantuan ark pieced together from the essences of three arks.

The ark was named: Last Hope.

Carrying the Eldar's final, remaining population of less than a billion, it tore through the edge of the Webway and fled—out of the Galaxy, toward the Extragalactic Systems watched by the cold observer, into all the unknown darkness.

"The Eldar's final ark, Last Hope, has confirmed its escape from the Galaxy," providence's voice sounded in the Command Center. "Trajectory locked: Extragalactic Systems, direction consistent with Slaanesh's escape vector. Estimated to enter firing range of the Extragalactic Pursuit Task Force in thirty years."

Han Zhe looked at the faint light dot slowly moving away from the Galaxy on the star map and remained silent for three seconds.

"Pursue."

His command consisted of a single word.

"The Eldar may choose to flee, but we will not choose to forget. For ten thousand years they have hidden, secretly manipulating how many human destinies? They believe they can forever observe from the sidelines, forever survive, forever await the next opportunity to rise."

"Show them the Galaxy's order does not accept bystanders."

"Pursue them to the end of the universe, and make them understand one truth: either integrate into order, or return to nothingness."

Unlike the Eldar's flight, the Necrons made another choice: consolidation.

At the edge of the Galaxy, in a death-shrouded star system wrapped in void storms, the final batch of undestroyed Necron Dynasties achieved their first true unification in ten thousand years.

Their commander was the supreme being who had once confronted the Human Federation in the Eye of Terror and was later driven back by The Swarm: the Silent King.

This oldest, most powerful, and wisest ruler of the Necrons, after experiencing confrontation with the Human Federation, battles with The Swarm, and another standoff with the Human Federation, finally reached a conclusion that nearly overloaded His cold logical core: Humanity cannot be defeated, but it can be used.

He made a choice even He Himself found difficult to comprehend: surrender to the Human Federation.

No, not surrender. A transaction.

The emissary He sent was a pure white, completely unarmed Necron phase ship. That ship passed through the Human Federation's defensive lines, landed on a Nullifier Node at the edge of the Sea of Order, and conveyed a message to the Human Federation from the Silent King Himself, encrypted to a level impossible to decipher: "I wish to meet your Archon, at the cost of everything beyond the Galaxy."

This was a dialogue with no third party present.

Location: the edge of the Sea of Order, on a temporarily constructed, isolated platform protected by both a Void Barrier and a Necron phase field.

One was Han Zhe, the supreme Archon of the Human Federation, a mortal who had grown from a fugitive to the master of the Galaxy over five hundred years.

The other was the Silent King, the supreme monarch of the Necrons, an ancient being with hundreds of millions of years of life, who had personally witnessed the rise and fall of the cosmos.

They stood facing each other, with no weapons, no protection, and no third party between them.

The Silent King spoke first.

His voice was not language, but a resonance as cold as the cosmic background radiation, sounding directly within the consciousness:

"You have won."

Han Zhe did not speak.

"The Galaxy belongs to you. Belongs to your order."

"We, the Necrons, have lost."

"But I do not wish to die."

Han Zhe finally spoke: "You choose to surrender?"

"No." The Silent King's voice held no fluctuation. "Surrender is the submission of the weak to the strong. I am not weak, and you are not—at least, in my current view, you are still not sufficient for me to submit to."

"I wish to make a transaction with you."

"What transaction?"

"Beyond the Galaxy." The faint green light in His empty eye sockets flickered slightly. "There are threats there you do not yet comprehend. The main source of the Tyranid swarm is still gathering strength deep within the Extragalactic Systems. The force you eliminated was merely its vanguard."

"There are things older than the Tyranids. There are kin of what you call the cold observer. There is the abyss the Eldar flee toward. There are corners where Slaanesh clings to existence."

"Beyond the Galaxy lies the unknown. Threats. Your next battlefield."

"And I know more about it than any of you."

Han Zhe's gaze sharpened slightly.

"How long have I lived?" The Silent King's voice carried an indescribable echo of hundreds of millions of years of solitude. "Longer than your sun. I have seen civilizations beyond the Galaxy rise and fall. I have recorded the coordinates of star systems devoured by the Tyranids. I know which star regions harbor slumbering kin of the cold observer, and which star regions must absolutely not be touched."

"This knowledge, I can give to you."

"The price."

"A promise." The Silent King's faint green flames suddenly blazed intensely. "Let me live. Let the final batch of Necrons in my Dynasty, those willing to follow me, live. Not as slaves, not as test subjects, but as enforcers of order beyond the Galaxy."

"I can become your Silent Hand beyond the Galaxy. Monitoring the Tyranids for you, exploring the unknown for you, withstanding the first wave of malice from the abyss for you."

Han Zhe remained silent for a long time.

So long that the Silent King's logical core, unfluctuating for hundreds of millions of years, experienced something akin to unease for the first time.

But finally, Han Zhe spoke: "Deal."

He extended his hand.

The Silent King looked at that mortal hand, pausing for 0.3 seconds—a lengthy hesitation for Him.

Then, He extended His own hand, constructed of Living Metal and cold, and grasped it.

At that moment, two utterly different beings, on this isolated platform at the edge of the Galaxy, completed an agreement that would be enough to change the Galaxy's future.

The Necrons were removed from the list of enemies.

They became allies of the Human Federation.